Waking Up On the Bathroom Floor
by xElementFivex
Summary: The bathroom floor wasn't exactly where Matt expected to wake up. But then again he never expected to wake up to a gorgeous blonde stranger either.
1. Tonight, Tonight

**This is sort of an opening chapter. We get down to the angsty, gritty goodness next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all.**

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_No fuckin' way._

It took every ounce of self control that Matt possessed not to turn tail and run back to the relative safety of the car at the sight of the line outside the club. People ranging in age between seventeen and thirty, most dressed in some combination of outlandish and garish garments, lined the gritty sidewalk outside the pitch black entrance to the building. Matt saw a man in a red vinyl – _vinyl? Really? – _suit with his arm around a girl in an outfit that had more sequins than actual fabric. A group of giggling girls in neon outfits so bright they nearly blinded him ran past, leaving the lingering smell of sweat and perfume in their wake. Matt took in all this in a glance and quickly concluded that he did not belong here.

Not one bit.

"Uh, guys? I um… I'm not feeling that well and it would probably be better if I just—" Matt began, a slight undertone of panic in his voice.

"No way, man," one of Matt's friends, a young man dressed in simple, dark blue jeans and black v-neck t-shirt spoke up. "No way are you ditching us tonight, Matt. Half-price, all the best d-jays; tonight is the night to be at the club. Come on, even L came," he gestured at another member of their party, a teen who hadn't bothered to change out of his usual attire of jeans and a baggy white shirt even for their night out.

Matt sighed in slight despair; Light could be rather forceful when he made his mind up about something. Was it even worth it to argue? Matt quickly shifted his glance between Light's determined glare and the ever-growing line of increasingly odd people. Oh yes, it was definitely worth it. The wrath of Light paled in comparison to the thought of having to spend the next God-knew-how-many hours pushing his way through sweaty masses of intoxicated strangers all dancing to the latest crappy techno mix.

Because really, Matt thought, that's all that clubs were. They were just an excuse for people to dress in ways society normally rejected, drink themselves stupid (or ingest enough illegal substances to take down a small elephant), and rub against strangers, all so that they could go brag to their friends and co-workers about what a 'totally awesome party weekend' they had had. Guilt-free of course, because somehow in the midst of the flashing lights and the pounding music, people seemed to lose all sense of themselves, and they acted in ways they would normally be ashamed of.

Matt detested that mindset. Of course, that wasn't his only reason for not wanting to come tonight. He wasn't anywhere near that noble. He wasn't all about upholding ideals. In reality, he was just lazy. Pure and simple. And anti-social too. He didn't want to be here, among the party-goers, because he would rather be at home, butt rooted firmly to the couch cushion, beating the latest video game he got on discount from the game store he worked at. To put it plainly: Matt would rather be alone with his consoles and his television set, than here with his sometimes, sometimes-not friends.

Matt really did value their friendship. He just wasn't sure if they valued his at times. He sometimes wondered if they would notice if he disappeared for a year. Oftentimes, he went weeks without seeing or speaking to any of his so-called closest friends. Tonight was actually a rare occurrence. An hour prior, Matt had been surprised to answer a knock at the door and see Light, L, Mikami and even Misa standing outside his apartment. He should have known by the look in Light's eyes or the shortness of Misa's skirt what the plans for the night were going to be.

But then again, Light often had that scary, determined look and Misa's skirts really did seem to be getting shorter every time Matt saw her- or maybe she was getting taller.

No, it was probably the other way around.

Whether or not the warning signs were there, Matt quickly found himself forced into the least dirty clothes that his friends could find on his bedroom floor, shoved into the backseat of Light's car and pushed and prodded up to the end of the line to enter the club. Why had he let himself be forced into this? He couldn't even remember the name of the place, for God's sake. He had absolutely zero interest in wasting his time avoiding drunken chicks when he could be at home gaming instead. And his friends hadn't listened to a single one of the protests (or threats) he had made concerning his attendance.

"Give it up, Matt. There's no way we're letting you leave. Besides, Light drove, how were you planning on getting home anyway?" This time it was Mikami, a rather tall teen with long black hair and glasses, who spoke.

"Kiss-ass," Matt muttered under his breath, aiming the insult somewhere in Mikami's general direction. It was a well-known fact that Mikami practically hero-worshipped Light for God-knows-what reason, and would take his side in any given argument. It was disgusting really. Matt saw nothing about Light that he would particularly want to emulate. Light was a prick cleverly disguised as a attractive young man with an unusually high IQ.

"Aw, come on Matt? Please?" Misa spoke next, her syllables bouncing almost as much as her bright blonde hair, which was pulled into pigtails high on her head and heavily doused in glitter for the night. "It won't be the same without you, Matt." She pouted and planted her hands firmly on her hips, trying to strike what Matt assumed to be an intimidating yet appealing pose.

Desperately, Matt turned to the only person in the group who had yet to speak, hoping to find his salvation in those wide, oddly blank grey eyes. But L, usually the smartest member of the group and the one whose anti-socialness rivaled even Matt's, simply looked him straight in the eye and said in his usual monotone, "Looks like you're stuck with us for the night, Matt."

Matt let out a string of curse words under his breath and silently raged against whatever gods were responsible for the creation of nightclubs, techno music, glow sticks, glitter…

Before Matt was finished cursing anything and everything he could think of that was, or would be, grating on his nerves tonight, the five of them had reached the front of the line. Matt flashed his driver's license at the heavily muscled bouncer, who then waved him over to a man collecting twenties. Matt cursed again in his head as he handed over forty dollars of his hard-earned cash and then stepped from the relative dark of the street to the pitch black of the entrance. He took another few steps and emerged from the entrance into the front room of the club, and immediately his attention was swept in twenty different directions at once. A pounding techno beat assaulted his ears, as kids in the corner twirled glow sticks maddeningly in an amateur light show. A few scantily clad girls dove past him, eager to get closer to the source of the deafening music, one of them spilling a bit of her drink down Matt's arm as she passed.

He looked down at his watch wearily. Ten o' clock. It was going to be a long night.

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	2. Being Alright

**This chapter is dedicated to the fabulous Lucidique. For being freaking awesome, and listening to me ramble about anything and everything.**

**Scratch that, the whole story is dedicated to her.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all.**

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"Five bucks."

Matt stared incredulously. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Five bucks," the man repeated, boredom written all over his features.

"Fucking ridiculous," Matt muttered under his breath as he plucked a slightly wrinkled five dollar bill from his wallet, slid it across the counter, and grabbed the bottle of water the man handed him in exchange. Feeling more than a little disgruntled at the rape his wallet had just experienced, Matt clutched his overly-expensive bottle of water and hurriedly returned to the corner of the front room where his friends were waiting.

"Why is this place so fucking expensive?" Matt asked no one in particular as he slid onto the seat next to Misa. They were currently in what was practically the club's only inside seating, two cushioned booths placed at right angles to each other and set extremely high up. A tall, round table was wedged in the corner, and at the present, L was resting his chin on the table top, staring subtly (but not so much that Matt didn't notice) at Misa's cleavage.

Matt sipped at his water to disguise a small laugh at L's actions. L had it bad for Misa, and Matt was the only one in their group of friends who knew. Not that L would ever come out and tell anyone to begin with, Matt was just observant enough to pick up on all the signs the others were too preoccupied to notice. Once Matt approached L with his suspicions though, L was surprisingly open about his secret. In fact, L talked to Matt quite a lot about his infatuation. The amount of words that the usual taciturn teen could say about Misa never ceased to amaze Matt. L just seemed to come alive in a way few ever got to see when talked about Misa.

Matt didn't entirely understand it. It wasn't that he couldn't see the appeal in the blonde; she was certainly pretty enough, and he had suspicions that she wasn't quite as stupid as she made herself out to be. It was just that he couldn't imagine getting that worked up over anyone, girl or otherwise. L had told him to just wait until he found someone that stirred up his blood, but Matt was unsure whether such a person existed. Not that it bothered him; he was just as happy using his internet connection in place of real human contact.

"I'm tired of sitting here," Light said suddenly, interrupting Matt's inner musings. "It's boring. I came here to have fun, not sit on my ass. Let's go dance."

"Okay," Mikami jumped up from his seat, immediately agreeing with Light. In fact, Matt thought to himself, the world might implode the day that Mikami _didn't _agree with Light. "I'm in."

"Let's go then," Light stood and jostled the table a bit on his way up, dislodging L from his Misa-cleavage-staring session. "C'mon," he grabbed Misa's arms and tugged her towards the door to the main dance floor. Misa obliged and Mikami followed closely behind Light, looking for all the world like a puppy following its master.

"Wait," Misa turned back towards the table with a concerned look on her face, "What about L and Matt? Don't you guys want to come dance?"

"I'm good here," Matt replied. Dancing was the very last thing he wanted to do at the moment- or ever.

L glanced between the darkened doorway, through which flashes of party-goers could be seen, lit by the constantly flashing strobe lights, and Matt, who was fiddling with the hem of his striped t-shirt. "I'll stay here and keep Matt company. It wouldn't be fair to leave him here all alone."

"Well, fine," Misa pouted slightly, "If you change your mind, you know where to find us."

"_Come on, Misa," _Light tugged on her arm impatiently. Misa gave the two still sitting at the table a small shrug and followed Light and Mikami. The three were quickly swallowed up by a whirl of bodies and glowsticks.

Matt busied himself tracing small patterns with his index finger in the condensation collecting on his water bottle, not even glancing up when he heard L sigh heavily.

"You know," Matt began, still not looking up, "she's obsessed with Light."

"I know," L stared wistfully at the doorway, "Believe me, I know. But just because she likes Light doesn't mean I can't hope, does it? Besides, he doesn't deserve her."

"You've got a point there." While Matt may not completely understand L's attraction to the girl, he certainly agreed with him on that point. Light didn't deserve the affection Misa piled on him (or Mikami's for that matter). Matt and Light made a good show of being friends, but if it weren't for the others, they would probably never speak to each other. There certainly wasn't any love lost between the two. Light thought Matt was lazy, unmotivated, and generally no better than the dirt under his no-doubt expensive shoes. Matt, on the other hand, found Light pretentious, annoying, and full of himself.

It was all another case where Matt just couldn't understand the attraction. He didn't see how Misa could be so devoted to someone who was obviously just using her. Light had long ago deduced that dating someone as pretty and devoted as Misa made him look good, so he kept her around. And Mikami… well, Matt was unsure what it was that Mikami was so desperate to imitate in Light, but his hero worship of the boy was a bit disturbing. The last few months of high school, it had even given rise to rumors that Mikami and Light were gay. Light had been horrified and refused to even speak to Mikami for months. Mikami had spent the entire time moping and moaning, much to everyone's general annoyance.

Thinking about all the interpersonal connections between them, Matt had to smile a bit. It was bit more complicated than a love triangle, it was more of a love… quadrilateral? Pentagon? L had a thing for Misa, Misa and Mikami had a thing for Light, and Light… well, Light had a thing for Light. The boy loved himself far more than was necessary for a healthy ego. In Matt's opinion, Light didn't need a girlfriend; he just needed a big mirror.

Of course, more than once, contemplating the love lives of his friends had left Matt with one slightly disturbing thought: Where did he fit into all this? He was hit strongly by a familiar feeling; he doubted they would miss him much were he to disappear from their lives. He wasn't really much else to them besides another body in the car, another friend to drag around and add to the count.

L shifted noisily, and drummed his fingertips across the table repeatedly. "You know, it wouldn't bother me if you went with them," Matt stopped his aimless water tracing and met L's eyes. "Go dance with them. Maybe you can even get in a dance with Misa. Light will be too busy dealing with Mikami begging him to teach him dance moves."

"Are you sure?" L asked, but it was clear from the longing look in his eyes that he had already made up his mind to go. "I'll feel bad that you're just sitting here by yourself."

"Go," Matt said firmly, "I'll find a way to entertain myself.

L didn't need any more encouragement. He quickly abandoned his seat and, with a hopeful look in his eyes, followed in the direction the others had disappeared to. Before he had gone out of earshot, he turned over his shoulder slightly and spoke, "Thanks, Matt."

Matt could barely hear him over the din of the club, so he didn't bother with a vocal response. Instead, he slightly tipped his head towards L, who nodded in return and continued on his way.

Matt watched L's retreating back, easily traceable by his white shirt, until he was swallowed by the crowd of people. Most people might not have caught L's double meaning with that 'thanks', but then again, Matt wasn't 'most people'. Despite spending most of his day interacting with hard drives and circuits instead of human beings, he was still remarkably good at reading people. L hadn't just been thanking him for letting him go dance, but also for his understanding of how L felt about Misa. Really, Matt thought, L was a decent guy. Out of the group, he was certainly Matt's favorite.

Now what to do? Matt leaned back lazily, watching more drops of condensation slowly track their way down the plastic bottle in front of him. Two girls, both in mini-skirts and pretty easy on the eyes (in Matt's opinion) passed by and he caught a small portion of their conversation.

"…and then he told me that he wanted 'to explore his options'. What kind of bullshit is that?" the first one, a blonde threw her hands up in the air in agitation.

"Retarded," her friend, a brunette with extremely pale skin replied. "He's totally stupid for dumping you."

"I know!"

Matt snickered a bit to himself. The girl was cute, but if that was the way she acted every day, he'd probably dump her too. He watched as the blonde pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse and held them up to her friend, posing a non vocal question. Her friend nodded in agreement and the two quickly headed towards a doorway in the far corner that Matt hadn't previously noticed. Grabbing his water bottle, he bounded up from his seat and followed nonchalantly. He assumed the two were headed to some outdoor area of the club. He was craving nicotine something fierce. Being surrounded by so many people for so long was stress he wasn't used to. A cigarette would go a long way towards calming his nerves right now.

A draft of slightly colder air and a huge cloud of cigarette smoke ghosted over him as he reached the door the two girls had gone through. It led to some sort of outdoor patio, which was packed with people. Tons of bodies sitting on benches, railings, or each other's laps, and best of all; they were all smoking. Matt smiled to himself. He was feeling more comfortable already.

Pulling a battered pack of smokes from his jean pocket, he made his way over to a patch of porch railing with no one leaning or sitting on it. He pulled out his equally beat up lighter and lit up, savoring the first drag of a brand new cigarette. He closed his eyes in contentment and leaned against the wooden railing, blowing the smoke skillfully in a stream from his mouth.

"Excuse me," a feminine voice cut through his air of happiness, and Matt cranked open one eye to look at the speaker. It was a girl in a glittery tank top and shorts that didn't look to be any longer than the length of Matt's hand. "I was wondering if I could bum a smoke?"

"Huh?"

The girl looked at him in exasperation. "A smoke? Ya know, a cigarette? Could I have one?"

"Sure," Matt muttered, digging around in his pack for one.

"Thanks," the girl reached over and plucked his water from where he had set it on the railing. "Is this yours? Can I have a drink? Water's really expensive here."

"I know," Matt replied, slightly annoyed. She was so very forward. "Go ahead, I don't care." Well, he did care a little bit. But it was just water… and a cigarette. "Here," he handed her a cigarette.

"Thanks again," she said brightly, and grabbed the cigarette as she set the bottle down. "You're kinda cute," she giggled. "Here, come meet my friends!" She grabbed onto his wrist and tugged him towards the other side of the porch.

"I'm not really very social," Matt began weakly, but the girl was determined, and it was making him very uncomfortable. She pulled him halfway across the porch through the throng of smokers before he broke her grasp on his wrist. "I'm really sorry," he muttered, "I'm just not good with people…" He mumbled a few more disjointed things before she finally gave him a sour look and continued without him. He sighed in frustration. Now she would probably go back and tell her friends all about the complete jerk she had just met.

He needed another cigarette; the first had fallen somewhere in the scuffle. He pulled one from his pack and placed it between his lips, patting his pockets expectantly for his lighter. He cursed silently when he failed to find the small, plastic object. He must have left it over on the railing. He fought his way through the crowds and was delighted to see it still sitting where he had left it. He was also thrilled to see his water still where the girl had left it, even though, he noted with agitation, she had neglected to replace the cap.

He looked at the bottle suspiciously and wiped the mouth of it before taking a swig. It was probably fine. He had only left it for a few seconds. He took another mouthful of water before concentrating on finally lighting his cigarette.

Ten minutes later, he stubbed out of the last of the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, and dropped the butt to the floor. He decided he might as well go find L and the others. Shaking his head slightly to clear away a sudden foggy feeling that he simply attributed to all the smoke and noise, he once again left the relative dark of the outside and entered the darkness of the club. As he took a few steps inside the front room, he was assaulted by a sudden wave of dizziness and a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something felt _wrong._ He shook his head again…

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_Wh...What was going on?_

Matt lifted his head slowly off the (tile?) floor, a blinding pain shooting through his head at the slight movement.

_Where am I?_

He pried open his eyes, harsh fluorescents stinging his retinas. The combination of the light and the sudden pain in his head made his head spin and he had to fight hard not to vomit. He raised his gaze a few inches off the floor and pair of black boots swam into his view.

"Hey there," said a deep voice. "Are you okay?"

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	3. Facedown

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all.**

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"Seriously, are you okay?"

Matt forced his eyelids open farther, wincing at the increase in light. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to raise his head off the floor, taking in his surroundings in a state of confusion. He was lying flat on his stomach on a dirty, gray tile floor. He turned his gaze slightly to the left and recognized the shape of the base of a toilet. So, he was lying on a bathroom floor with no clue how he had gotten there. Great, just great. What the hell had happened?

One of the boots he assumed belonged to the man with the deep voice shifted, and began to tap impatiently against the floor. Matt's gaze followed the line of the man's leg, all the way up to his head. The bright, fluorescents on the ceiling made it impossible for Matt to make out the man's face; all he could see was a literal halo of fine, blonde hair laying impossibly straight against the man's neck. For a moment the thought struck Matt that he might find this man attractive in any other state. Maybe if he weren't feeling so very confused, and sick, and weren't lying on a dirty, bathroom floor with walls painted the color of puke.

_Puke._

The minute the word surfaced in his mind, Matt knew it was a mistake to think it. He felt his stomach give a sickening twist and retched. He knew there was a toilet next to him, but it was coming too fast and he couldn't even find the strength in his arms to prop himself up.

"Woah!" The blonde man said, seeing Matt's body convulse slightly. "Hey there, you can't be throwing up on the floor, man."

Matt was startled when the man suddenly wrapped one arm around Matt's waist, hoisting him up slightly and bringing him to the level of the toilet bowl. The man's other hand unceremoniously grabbed a chunk of hair on the back of Matt's head, aiming his face roughly towards the bowl. Matt supposed at any other time, he would have been mortified and more than slightly angry at the rough treatment, but at the moment he was preoccupied as his body emptied the contents of his stomach in the most unpleasant way.

He vomited three times before he finally felt his stomach settle down and return to some semblance of normality. He took several deep, shaky breaths and wiped at his mouth with the back of one trembling hand. He felt the man finally loosen his grip on his hair and his waist, as he slowly eased Matt back to the floor. Then the man dropped to his knees next to Matt, and carefully guided him into a position where he sitting, half-propped, against the wall opposite the toilet.

Matt let his eyes close and his head fall back against the wall. He couldn't ever remember feeling this bad, not once in his life. Not even when he was ten and had gotten food poisoning; and he'd always thought that would be impossible to top. He took another deep breath, relishing the feeling of the cool tile floor against any exposed skin.

"You feel better now?" It was the blonde man again. Matt didn't open his eyes, not wanting the glare of the overhead lights to somehow make him lose his grip on his barely contained nausea. He simply tipped his head slightly downward, not wanting to risk the extra motion of nodding. Now that he had thrown up, he was feeling a little better, much better in f--

No, no he wasn't. Matt's eyes snapped open and he launched himself across the short space, once again expelling whatever was left in his stomach into the white porcelain. His knuckles turned white under the pressure as he gripped the sides of the bowl. He was vaguely aware that he was no longer throwing up anything but stomach acid; his throat burned violently. He continued to retch; dry heaves racking his body this time. And to make matters worse, he began to shake. Every part of him, from his fingertips to his toes, was trembling. He allowed his grip on the toilet to slacken and he sat down hard on the floor.

The man grabbed his chin and forced Matt's face upwards so he could look at him. Matt stared back into the man's icy blue eyes, and the thought crossed his mind that he had been correct earlier, he was quite attractive. But that didn't seem to matter much right now; what mattered was finding out what the fuck was wrong with him.

"What did you take?" The man inquired, searching Matt's eyes for any telltale signs of illicit substances.

"…didn't take anything…" Matt mumbled in response, trying desperately to control his shaking extremities. His hands beat out a rhythm like a snare drum on the dirty floor.

"Don't fucking lie to me, man. I can help you, but not if you don't tell me what you took."

"I didn't take anything!" Matt was more forceful in his answer this time. He just wanted to find his friends and go home, why wouldn't this man believe him and let him go? He didn't feel good. He didn't-

"You know, your mouth says one thing, but your rather impressive display of projectile vomiting says another," the man frowned at him, appearing to be having some sort of mental debate with himself. Whatever he was debating was apparently quickly resolved, as he let go of Matt's chin and stood. He then reached down and grabbed Matt under both arms, hauling into a half-standing position. Matt leaned heavily on him and the man maneuvered one of Matt's arms over his shoulder so as to better support him.

The blonde man, now supporting more than half of Matt's body weight, grunted slightly and asked, "What's your name?"

"Matt," he barely managed to spit out. It felt like each and every word the man was speaking was traveling through a thick fog before it reached Matt's brain. And when Matt tried to respond, his mouth almost refused to cooperate with him. It was like his tongue and teeth couldn't work in their normal sync and were getting in the way of his speech.

"Okay Matt, I need you to tell me if you came with anybody. Did you come with friends?"

Matt knew the answer to his question, but all of the sudden he couldn't remember why answering was so important. He felt so very bad, and all he wanted to do was lie down. He felt his head completely slump down onto his chest and even more of his body weight transferred over to the blonde. He felt vaguely bad about the trouble he was causing the man, but he couldn't think what to do to fix it.

"Matt? Matt? Goddamnit. Fuck this; you're coming home with me. We can sort this out when you're not so fucked up. I can't just leave you here. Damnit, I'm too nice," the blonde kept up a constant stream of muttering under his breath, not speaking to anyone in particular. In a fleeting moment of lucidness, Matt thought that he ought to be finding L or Misa or even Light at this point, but the thought quickly vanished as the man jolted him roughly.

Matt's head snapped back up from where it had been resting on his chest. His almost-closed eyes met those blue ones again as the man spoke intently to him. "Now listen, Matt. I'm going to help you walk to my car, but you have to do something for me, okay?"

Matt nodded, sensing that what he was saying was important enough that he needed to try and stay aware.

"Okay good," he continued. "Like I said, we're going to my car, but while we're walking through the club I need you to do your best to not throw up, okay? It's very, very important Matt. If any club security sees you doing that, they can pull you out and have you arrested. And I know you keep saying you didn't take anything Matt, but I don't believe you, and the police sure as hell aren't going to. Do you understand?"

Matt nodded again; wanting nothing more than to be out of the club and at home in his bed- or hell, even his floor might have been nice. Anywhere that wasn't here.

The man, satisfied that Matt understood the importance of playing it cool outside the bathroom, hoisted Matt a bit to make sure he had a firm grip, and then pushed open the door to the stall. Before leaving the bathroom itself, he quickly glanced around the open doorway, checking for any club security. Once out of the bathroom, he made short work of the walk to the front door, winding between the crowds skillfully, despite having the extra burden of supporting Matt.

A wave of exhaustion swept over Matt the moment they exited the club. The sudden absence of people talking and the pounding bass of techno left him with a ringing in his ears and an oddly empty feeling in his chest.

Somehow, with the help of the man, he made it to a car. He was vaguely aware of the man tipping him into the passenger seat, and buckling his seat belt for him, before the quiet hum of the tires on the road lulled him into a dreamless sleep.

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For the second time in less than twenty four hours, Matt found himself waking up in a strange place, but this time he felt a hell of a lot more aware of his surroundings. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in bare, white walls, and a broken ceiling fan hanging directly above him. He could feel the beginnings of a massive headache building around his temples and he brought his hand up to his face to rub at his eyes.

He was lying on a couch in a place he didn't recognize. But how had he gotten here? He searched his memory desperately for something, anything that might point out where he was. He remembered a girl asking him for a cigarette and then dragging him towards her friends. He had refused and then…

Then what? He just couldn't remember anything until he was facedown on the bathroom floor with that rather attractive blonde man helping him…

That man. Matt groaned, partly in pain but mostly in embarrassment when he realized that the man had taken him home. That must be where he was now. But in that case…

He was startled when a shadow was suddenly thrown across him, and a person came into view directly above him, leaning over the couch to get a good look at Matt.

"Mello?" the person staring down at Matt called loudly. "Who is this on our couch?"

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	4. Only Hurts Awhile

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all.**

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Matt stared up at the obviously disgruntled man, at a complete loss for words. The man, whom Matt assumed must be a friend of the blonde man from the night before, looked down intently at Matt, his head cocked slightly to the side. Matt suppressed a shiver at the oddly blank look in the boy's eyes-- because, Matt realized, he was very young looking. Not a man at all, but a boy. He was probably not much younger than Matt himself, and for that matter, the man who had brought him home last night might not be that old at all. Matt had just assumed the blonde man was older than he was- he had such an air of confidence about him.

"Mello?" The boy called again, a note of agitation creeping into his voice. The boy broke his gaze from Matt- for which Matt was very thankful, the boy was creeping him out- and turn an irritated glance over his shoulder, obviously waiting for an answer. When none came, the boy muttered a barely intelligible 'whatever' and looked back down at Matt. "Move, would you?"

Matt was startled when the boy spoke to him, but recovered quickly and scrambled to one side of the couch. "Sure, no problem." The boy settled himself on half of the couch Matt had just abandoned, appearing to no longer be interested in Matt now that he was no longer blocking his seat.

Matt, not wanting to stare outright at the boy, instead looked straight ahead at the extremely old television set placed on a rickety, beat up coffee table. He really wished the TV was on; anything really to break the uncomfortable silence that was filling the room. Any noise would do, or even better, maybe the blonde man, Mello- if the name the boy had been calling was correct, would come in and rescue him from this too.

A clicking noise drew Matt's attention away from the television set and back to those strangely blank grey eyes. The boy pulled out two toy robots- one from under the couch, and where the other came from Matt could only hazard a guess- and began to stage some sort of silent battle. For the first time since seeing the boy, Matt registered the fact that he had white hair. That was… odd to say the least. Matt spent the better part of a minute contemplating how someone so young could possibly have hair that color, before focusing on the boy again.

He really did creep Matt out. It wasn't just the hair, or the silent demeanor, or the fact that someone his age shouldn't be playing with toys.

It was _the way_ the boy did things. When he spoke, he didn't seem to care about the answers he did or didn't receive. When he played with the toys, he seemed to give the action his whole concentration, but Matt had the feeling it was nothing more than an empty gesture, or a force of habit. Occasionally the boy would smile to himself, and Matt couldn't help but notice that the smile never reached those dead eyes.

Because that was the perfect way to describe them- dead.

All in all, he freaked Matt the fuck out.

"Near?" A familiar voice rang through the room, and Matt had to restrain himself from jumping up in relief. The blonde man was back and Matt wouldn't have to sit in silence with this strange, pale teen anymore. "Near?" The voice was closer this time, and for the first time Matt turned his gaze to the rest of the room in search of the source of the voice.

There was no other furniture besides the couch on which he was sitting and the TV and coffee table he had already observed. There was, however, heaps of _stuff._ Clothes, a few books, magazines, empty water bottles, crushed soda cans, fast food wrappers, and mounds of trash dominated what little floor space the room had. Matt guessed it to be about the size of his own apartment- so basically, a box masquerading as a proper living space.

There were two doors; one Matt guessed was the front door from its multiple locks, and the other was behind the couch, opened just enough for the shaggy blonde head that was peering through.

"Matt!" A body quickly followed the head into the room, as soon as he saw Matt staring at him. "You're awake! Near, you weren't antagonizing him, were you? He had a hell of a night."

The boy, Near, didn't bother with an answer, still absorbed in his imaginary fight. Matt saw a concerned look flit across the blonde's face at Near's lack of response. His frown was only temporary though, as he turned his gaze on Matt and smirked. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Uh, to be honest, I feel like I was run over by a truck," Matt answered. And he wasn't lying; now that the initial shock of waking up in a strange place with an even stranger person above him had worn off, he realized that _he felt like crap. _His head was pounding and his mouth was bone-dry. What had happened to him last night?

"Yeah, I figured," the blonde sighed. "Come with me, and we'll get you something for the headache." The blonde quickly turned on heel and disappeared through the door. Matt scrambled up off the couch, thrilled to be leaving the creepy kid behind. He followed the blonde into a short hallway and through the first opening on the right into a small kitchenette. It was simple-- a fridge, a small stove, and barely any counter space. Matt leaned himself awkwardly against the fridge, while the blonde rifled through one of the overhead cabinets for some painkillers. "I'm Mello, by the way," the blonde said, still thoroughly absorbed in his task.

So, that was his name. Mello. Matt repeated the name silently to himself. It was an eccentric name, but then again, Mello looked like an eccentric guy. Since Mello's back was currently turned, Matt stared openly, more than a bit intrigued about the person who had taken him home.

Mello's shaggy blonde hair was just long enough to hit the collar of his black, long-sleeved shirt. For pants, he was wearing black leather so tight, it appeared to be painted onto his body, and even though they were indoors, he had a pair of black combat boots on as well. Matt was no expert on fashion- most of his outfits made Light cringe- but Mello's clothes looked e_xpensive._ That was odd enough when you looked at Mello's age- Matt had concluded that Mello was about his age, nineteen; and college-age people aren't exactly the wealthiest group in the world- but also in light of the apartment he apparently lived in. This shabby, run-down, and overall _dirty_ place just didn't seem like it fit with Mello's style.

"Here." Matt quickly subverted his gaze as Mello turned and tossed a small bottle of Tylenol his way. Mello watched with an unreadable expression as Matt fumbled with the bottle, cursing whoever thought up child-safe caps.

After shaking two tablets out onto his hand, Matt set the bottle down on the counter and looked apologetically at Mello. "Could I… have some water or something? My throat is killing me."

Mello replied in a tone as unreadable as his gaze, "Yeah, no problem." Mello quickly busied himself pulling a chipped glass out of a cabinet above the sink and filling it with tap water. He handed it to Matt- who swiftly downed the water and pills- and then leaned against the counter opposite Matt, meeting Matt's eyes with a piercing gaze.

"So…," Mello trailed off, obviously trying to lead in to a conversation.

"So, yeah…," Matt replied. "What happened last night?"

Mello smirked and ducked his head forward, letting even more of his blonde hair fall over the left side of his face. That seemed to be his usual state- Matt had yet to see his face clearly. He had, however, seen enough to know that Mello resembled one of those kids at Matt's old high school who all the girls would fawn over. Basically, the exact opposite of Matt. Mello was attractive, but in a way that exuded danger and excitement. Mello answered Matt's question with a demand, "You tell me."

"I… I don't know."

"Sure you don't," Mello laughed a little; he clearly didn't believe Matt. "What were you on? You were really fucked up. It's okay," he reassured, seeing Matt move to defend his previous statement. "You can tell me. Believe me; I'm in no place to judge."

"I didn't take anything! Why do you keep insisting I did?" Matt was more than a little angry.

"Calm down," Mello put his hands up defensively. "I walked into the bathroom and saw you lying passed out on the floor. You woke up and nearly vomited all over my shoes- which weren't cheap by the way, so you're lucky you didn't. Don't think I wouldn't have made you pay for them. So you tell me, what am I supposed to assume? That you're clean and sober? That's bullshit and you know it."

"Well, I didn't fucking take anything. How many more ways can I say it?" Matt tensed, his hands unconsciously making fists at his side. When it was clear that Mello wasn't going to give in and believe Matt, Matt decided he had had enough.

First, he had been taken, despite his vehement protests, to a club to spend the night watching people dance and wondering when he could go home. Then… something had happened, and he had woken up, sick and confused, on a disgusting bathroom floor. Then, some strange guy in incredibly tight leather who apparently thought he owned the frickin' universe, had taken him home where he had woken up to an even weirder, silent, and obviously messed up kid. And now, after all that, Mello refused to believe him when he could honestly say he hadn't done any drugs the night before. This was it, the last straw. Matt refused to stay here any longer. He turned and angrily began to leave the tiny kitchen.

"Hey, hey, wait!" Mello launched himself away from the counter and grabbed onto one of Matt's wrists. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Fuck you!" Matt spat. "I'm leaving. What's the point of staying and talking to you if you're not even gonna have the fucking courtesy to listen to what I'm saying?"

"Fine." Mello dropped his wrist. "But," he said slyly to Matt's retreating back, "if you stay, I'll tell you what really happened last night."

Matt sighed in defeat. He knew he had lost; he really wanted to know. "Fuck," he muttered, as he turned back around. "Fine, what the hell happened to me?"

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**Review and I'll love you forever.**

**I'm sorry about the slow pace of the story thus far. The next two chapters will pick and stuff will start happening. Oh yes, it will.**


	5. The Takeover

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all.**

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"Go ahead, if you know, tell me," Matt stared at Mello expectantly.

Mello smirked and leaned nonchalantly against the counter. At that moment, it occurred to Matt that even for all his anger, Mello was still in charge of the conversation. He was slick guy. Mello let out a small laugh, "Well, I can tell you what _probably _happened."

"You don't even know?!" Matt was practically spitting in anger. He wished to God that Mello would get that stupid hair out of his face, so he could see him eye to eye. Maybe then, some of his rage would get across to the blonde.

"No. But I've got a pretty good guess."

Matt forced himself to calm down. Taking a deep breath, he said between clenched teeth, "Well then, won't you please be kind enough to enlighten me?" He was practically choking on the sarcasm and he hoped at least a fraction of it reached Mello's ears.

"Isn't it obvious? You got drugged," Mello gave a small shrug. "I mean, you don't remember anything, you passed out, threw up… seems pretty self explanatory to me."

"Well excuse me for not fucking knowing what being drugged feels like," Matt spat back, trying to process this new information. He had been drugged? It did make sense, when he thought about it. But still… "Doesn't that kind of thing only happen to stupid, sorority girls?"

"Au contraire, mon ami. It can happen to anyone. The club's particularly infamous for it. Besides, look at you. I'm not surprised someone got you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on," Mello scoffed, "you're hot. Don't bother trying to deny it. You know," he said thoughtfully, "now that I think about it… I bet it was him."

"Who?"

Mello shrugged again. "I don't know who he is, or even if it is a 'he'. But there have been a lot of people getting knocked out at the club in the last few months. Male, female, he doesn't seem to have a preference. None of them have been able to remember anything, so no one has a clue who's doing it. Personally," he added, "I think he's pretty slick. Never getting caught and all that."

"Great," Matt balled his fists angrily, "Is that supposed to make me feel better? That I'm not the only one?" Matt felt a rage he couldn't explain growing in the pit of his stomach. It was rage fueled by embarrassment, and disbelief, and an inexplicable feeling of shame. He knew, _he knew_ it wasn't his fault, but he couldn't stop the feeling of disgust in his chest. How inexcusably weak of him. How could he let something like this happen? He was supposed to be a man. He was supposed to-

"You're lucky I found you."

"Huh?" Matt looked up in surprise.

"You're lucky I found you," Mello repeated. "You're sort of in my debt now, aren't you?"

"What?!"

"Relax," Mello gave a small smile, "I'm joking."

A tense, yet oddly familiar feeling silence filled the small kitchen. Matt hung his head, staring at the floor, completely lost in his thoughts. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around everything that had happened. The silence stretched on for five minutes and would have lasted for more, if not for the small noise Mello made in his throat.

Matt, thinking Mello was about to speak again, looked up. "Wha—" The word died on his lips as he took in the sight before him.

Mello froze in the simple act of tucking his long hair behind his ears, completely exposing the left side of his face. Matt couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it the night before, but how could he have? Everything was a blur, and today Mello had carefully let his hair cover his face the entire time.

The entire left side of his face was covered in the most impressive scar Matt had ever seen. A burn scar, it had to be. Matt stared openly, entranced by the whorls of melted flesh. Somewhere deep down, he knew he should have been slightly repulsed, but he was too intrigued to care. The scar stretched from his forehead down to his chin, arching away from his mouth, and continuing down his neck, disappearing under his shirt. The skin near his left eye was twisted, giving his eye a slight droop. It only increased the intimidating force of Mello's gaze.

Mello brushed his hair back a second time and Matt noticed that behind his bangs, his hairline started a good inch higher on the side with the scar. Matt's eyes traversed the visible length of the scar again, and then met Mello's. Mello's eyes flashed with something Matt couldn't quite define, and his mouth was set in a hard line.

A minute passed with no sound, and then another one.

And then, Matt understood. It was no accident that Mello had kept his scar hidden thus far. That look in his eyes, the silence… this was a challenge. A game. A test.

A test for Matt. Matt held a silent battle in his mind. He had no clue what Mello was thinking, just that he was waiting for Matt's response. And somehow, for some reason, Matt knew that his response would make or break everything. He didn't know why, but for some reason, in the short time he had known Mello, he had become oddly enamored with the confident boy. The thought of losing this game, of answering incorrectly terrified Matt. He knew that if he answered wrong, Mello would cast him aside and Matt would most likely never see him again.

All these thoughts ran through Matt's head in the space of several seconds, and Matt silently thanked God for his ability to read people. Although Mello was the hardest person to read he had ever come across.

Matt swallowed. He was going to go with his gut on this one. "What happened to your face?"

There was another moment of tense silence and Mello's eyes narrowed dangerously. Matt's stomach dropped in sheer panic. He had said the wrong thing! He should have just ignored it, pretended he didn't see-

The corner of Mello's mouth twitched, and then he broke into a laugh. "Blunt," he said with a chuckle, "I knew I liked you, Matty." And just like that Matt knew he had passed Mello's little test. He wasn't quite sure what passing the test meant in the long run, but he was happy all the same.

"Don't call me Matty," Matt muttered, feigning annoyance.

"Okay, _Matt_," Mello laughed again. "I was in a fire."

"Really?"

"Yep. Huge explosion. Ran into the building. Saved three people. I even saved a baby."

This time it was Matt's turn to narrow his eyes. He gazed at Mello for a few seconds before looking him dead in the eyes and saying, "Bullshit."

Mello laughed even harder this time. "Aw, you got me, Matt. You're right, that never happened."

"So what did happen?"

Mello gave a final laugh and shrugged. "Maybe one day I'll tell you Matt. You know what?" Mello glanced at the clock on the microwave. "It's almost noon. I should probably take you home."

"Huh? Oh… yeah, I guess so." In light of everything that had happened, Matt had completely forgotten about going home. But now that Mello mentioned it, Matt was filled with longing for his small apartment. It was strange though; normally every part of Matt would be longing for his couch and a good video game, but now, some small part of him was reluctant to leave. He realized that he didn't want to leave Mello, and this dirty apartment, and the uncomfortable conversations. This was so different from his normal routine, and he was… enjoying it?

Yes, despite all the terrible things that had happened the previous night, he was _enjoying _the excitement. It was something he hadn't felt in awhile. And this guy, Mello, was a huge part of it.

"Okay then," Mello pushed his lanky body away from the corner and halfway out into the hallway in one fluid motion. "Where do you live, Matt? I'll drive you home." Matt sighed inwardly. This life, the one that Mello was leading… he could never be a part of that. He might as well return to his solitary life, and forget this glimpse of something different.

Matt rattled off his address automatically and reluctantly followed Mello through the apartment, past the creepy white-haired kid-- who had ceased playing with his toy robots and was now staring at the wall--, down the stairs, and through the parking lot to Mello's motorcycle. Mello slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses he had snagged from on top of one of the piles of trash in the apartment and swung one leg over the bike.

"Uh…," Matt began, before Mello cut him off.

"Just get on, and hold onto my waist. Don't be a baby about it. Besides," Mello lowered his shades and glanced at Matt, "how many chances are you gonna get to have your arms around someone as hot as me?"

Huh, so even with the scar, Mello wasn't lacking in self-confidence. Then again, Matt would have been surprised if he was. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who ever doubted himself. He was nothing like Matt.

Matt didn't pay much attention on the ride to his apartment complex. Later, when he thought about, he would berate himself for not watching and memorizing where Mello lived, but at the moment he had too many thoughts clamoring for his attention. He still didn't know how to feel about what had happened at the club. Not at all. He didn't dare let his mind wander to the multitude of possibilities of what might have happened while he was so out of it. Maybe it was best that he didn't remember.

"We're here." Matt shook himself out his thoughts at the sound of Mello's voice, disappointed in himself at the slight despair he felt. He didn't want to have to say goodbye to the blonde. Damn, how had he gotten so attached in such a short amount of time? Mello was just like a magnet to him, or so it seemed.

"Thanks," he muttered before loosening his grip on Mello's waist, and sliding off the back of the bike. "I really appr-"

"Matt!"

A familiar voice rang across the parking lot of Matt's apartment complex. A few moments later, a teen in jeans and a wrinkled white shirt came jogging up to stand next to Matt.

L. From the looks of it L, like Matt, hadn't changed out his clothes from the night before. His black hair was mussed, as if he had been running his hands through it, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual.

"Matt," L said, "where the hell have you been? We looked all over the club for you last night. When we couldn't find you there, we searched the neighborhood. I sat outside your apartment all night, waiting to see if you got back. Why the hell didn't you tell us you were leaving, or at least have the courtesy to answer your phone?!"

Matt was taken aback by the force of L's rant. It was unusual to see L this worked up. In fact, Matt didn't think he had ever seen L this angry, much less heard L raise his voice so much. "I… uh…," Matt struggled to respond. "I'm sorry, I-," Matt patted his pockets, searching; "I don't know where my cell phone is! Crap! Aw fuck, I don't have my wallet either!"

How could he have not noticed before? In all the craziness, he hadn't even considered the whereabouts of his phone. Well… this was irritating, to say the least. Especially the loss of his wallet. "Shit," he muttered, his mind automatically jumping to solutions "I'm gonna have to go get a new driver's license." Focusing on the small things kept him from panicking. He just had to handle one thing at a time.

"Well," Mello spoke up, "at least you don't have any credit cards to cancel."

"Huh?" Matt cocked his head to the side, confused. "How do you know that?"

Mello laughed, making Matt feel slightly stupid for some reason. But then again, Mello seemed to be good at that. "It's a pain in the ass to cancel credit cards and get new ones. I assume you don't have a credit card. You look like you barely have five bucks."

"Yeah, I guess," Matt couldn't decide whether to be offended or not.

"Hi, I'm L, by the way," Matt tore his attention away from his depressingly empty pockets when he heard L introduce himself to Mello.

"Okay," Mello said condescendingly, not even bothering to lift his shades. He blatantly ignored the hand that L held out to shake, making it clear he didn't think much of L. Mello didn't even bother to offer up his own name to L, instead he turned his attention to Matt. "I'll see you around, Matt." Mello gunned the engine on his bike and sped off before Matt had a chance to even get out a decent goodbye.

"Who the hell was that Matt? He was rude." L was too busy trying to figure out who Mello was to be offended at Mello's abject refusal of his attempt to be friendly.

"Just someone I met," Matt said. "You know L, I'm really tired. I'm gonna go up to my apartment and sleep, okay?" He didn't really want to sleep; he wanted to think. And he was more upset by Mello's sudden departure than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

"Wait a second," L put a hand to stop Matt. "You're not even going to explain last night to me?"

"No," Matt didn't think he could handle any more talking about last night. "I… I promise I'll talk to you about it later okay? I just… I need some time to myself right now."

Matt brushed past the L, ignoring L's protests and hurried up the stairs. He was suddenly thankful for the spare key he kept under the welcome mat; his key had been in his wallet. Damn, he would have to get the locks changed now.

Once inside, Matt collapsed on his bed, and buried his face in a pillow. He had a lot to think about.

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**Mello's a manipulative guy, isn't he? Thoughts, opinions? I'm always glad to hear 'em.**

**Beta-ed by: Emo-Nerdy-Insane-Writer**


	6. Let You Down

**Longest chapter ever: brought to you by ElementFive and insomnia.  
Okay not really, it's only 3, 378 words, plus the author's notes.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all.**

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Two weeks. It had been nearly two weeks since that disastrous night at the club. Two weeks since the hurricane named Mello had blown in and out of his life, leaving only confusion and a longing for the way things were before in his wake. Because the truth of the matter was that while physically Matt had completely recovered- mentally, he was screwed. He knew exactly what the problem was, and could sum it up simply, with a mere five words.

Matt was so fucking _bored._ And it was Mello's fault. Sort of. Deep down, Matt knew it wasn't fair to pin responsibility on the blonde- he barely knew him, after all. But Matt couldn't deny the fact that without Mello, this boredom would have never been a problem. Matt's life was exactly the same as it had been before that night. The only difference… was Matt himself.

He still got up in the morning and went to class- at the local community college, even though his parents had tried their hardest to convince him to apply to a university. Matt approached school like he approached most everything else- with a laidback attitude that would most likely get him nowhere in the long run. He still worked every day at the game store in the mall, making just above minimum wage. He would have liked to make more and rid himself of some of the dependence on his parent's money, but didn't feel quite motivated enough to get out and actually look for a higher paying job. He still put off his homework until two in the morning in favor of playing video games.

His life hadn't changed at all. It was still the same monotonous routine, broken only every now and then by overtime at work or an evening exam. He had lived this way for the last year and a half, and had never had a problem with it.

So why was he so fucking bored?

Mello. Mello had stirred feelings in Matt that he wasn't used to and that he didn't feel equipped to deal with. Mello was danger. Mello was excitement. Mello was a break from the rut that Matt was living in. A new and thrilling experience to snap Matt out of his middle-class suburban daze. The blonde was fiery, and strange, and oh so confusing.

And aside from their first chaotic meeting, he was also apparently not interested in Matt. There had been no contact from the blonde; no surprise visits to Matt's apartment, no letters in the mail- not even a fucking smoke signal. Matt had no way of contacting him. Not that he would ever do it- he was too much of a coward. But as much as he hated to admit it, the absence of the blonde was killing him.

Two weeks ago, after the blonde had dropped him off, Matt had spent the rest of the day, and the day following it, listening with hawk-like intensity for the sound of a motorcycle outside in the parking lot. He had no such luck. But still, he had continued to cling to the ridiculous fantasy that Mello might drop by, grab Matt, and sling him on the back of his bike to ride off to god-knows-where. And the truth of the matter was, that would have been absolutely fine with Matt.

Three times in the last two weeks, he had heard a knock on the door and- as much as he hated to admit it- gotten excited, only to answer it and find no blonde-haired beauty, but instead just L and on one occasion, his mother. Every time he opened the door only to be disappointed by the sight of someone other than Mello, it felt like a cruel joke.

It was his own fault, really. If he didn't want to be bothered by his parents or L, he should have replaced his phone. But as it was, he hadn't really done anything about any of his missing items. Driving without a driver's license didn't really faze him; he was a good enough driver not to get pulled over. To be honest, he didn't see a point in replacing his cell phone; his parents and his boss were the only people that ever called him on it, and he had absolutely no objections to missing conversations with either of them.

His mother- the one time she had come by- had been easy to deal with. Just a small, white lie about losing his cell phone on the way to class one day. She was on her way out the door before he was even done with the explanation. It wasn't that his parents didn't love him- he was sure they did; it was just that, for the past nineteen years, he hadn't done a good job of loving them back. They had tried harder when he was younger, to coerce any type of affection out of their son, but he had always been cold and standoffish. It was just the way he was- to everyone, not just his parents. They had tried, but his nature could not be changed. Eventually they just gave in, and left him alone. They still did things for him- like pay for his classes, and help him out with the rent on the apartment, but that was it. And Matt was more than happy with the situation. He had never felt like he quite belonged in a family dynamic, not even when he was a child.

L had been more difficult to get rid of. He had come by twice and both times he had demanded that Matt talk to him about the night at the club and his disappearance. Matt had skirted around the subject and made excuses until he was blue in the face, but L wasn't buying it. Fortunately for Matt, there was nothing L could do about it. They weren't in elementary school; L couldn't just run to the teacher and tattle on Matt for not doing what he wanted. But still, L's interrogations made Matt uncomfortable, and he had breathed a sigh of relief when the black haired teen left.

The source of his discomfort wasn't hard to figure out. L was asking the exact same questions that Matt was afraid to ask himself. What e_xactly_ had happened? Not once in the last two weeks had Matt really allowed himself to ponder the possibilities. It made him feel unbearably disgusting and weak. All it took was a momentary flash of a question across his mind to make him feel terrible shame that he couldn't quite explain. Not knowing what had happened to him, what he might have done, who might have touched him, made him feel irrevocably filthy.

He had taken to standing in the shower for the better part of an hour a few times a day, water turned up as hot as it would go, scrubbing at his skin until it split and bled. His water bill was practically through the roof, and it seemed like it was all for nothing. He still felt revolting. It was ironic, really. He was probably the cleanest he had ever been in his life, even though he had never felt dirtier.

And so, it was with the unbearable weight of invisible grime upon him, that Matt found himself in another hour-long shower at seven o clock on a Friday night. For the past twenty minutes the redhead had stood motionless, with his head bowed, letting the scalding water pound into his neck and back. He stared intently at the red, raw skin on his arms- the product of his latest bout of scrubbing. Little dots of blood continually popped up along the length of arms, only to be quickly dissipated by the water running off his chest. He wished he could wash his thoughts right out of head and down the drain, alongside the blood.

Weekends were, at the same time, something Matt looked forward to and something he detested. On one hand, he had no classes, no work, and could spend hours just curled up on the couch, game controller glued firmly in his grip. On the other hand, he wouldn't leave his apartment at all, and that meant dealing with the constant _waiting._ As much as he tried to distract himself, there was always a small part of him listening hopefully for the sound of a certain boy's booted footsteps outside his front door.

He stayed away this long, Matt thought. He probably wants nothing to do with-

A sudden shift in the air made Matt's eyes narrow and his ears perk up intently. He couldn't say for certain whether it had been a noise, or just a change in the air of the apartment that had alerted him. A feeling in his gut told him he was no longer alone in the apartment. He debated his options quickly; it was useless to try and hear anything over the rush of water from the shower, but at the same time, if there was someone in the apartment, they were probably be alerted by the lack of noise if he turned the shower off.

He slipped as quietly as he could out of the shower, leaving the water running in an attempt to fool whoever was in his apartment. He wrapped a towel around his waist, cursing the fact that he had left his clothes in his bedroom. As discreetly as possible, he pushed open the door and peered into his bedroom.

The lights were off in his bedroom and from the looks of it, everyone else in the apartment as well. Matt gulped; this confirmed his fears. He was certain he had left the lights _on._ He steeled himself for a confrontation and, with quick prayer to god to spare him the humiliation of dying soaking wet and wearing just a towel, pushed open the door fully, darting quickly into the bedroom.

Immediately, he felt an arm wrap itself around his waist from behind and yank him back, and to his horror, he felt the cold steel of a knife press itself against his neck. He swallowed hard, terrified, and felt the knife press slightly into his throat, almost hard enough to draw blood.

"Freeze," a cold voice whispered, dripping with malice. In the midst of his terror, Matt thought that that voice sounded slightly familiar, almost like-

"Don't move a muscle."

-Mello.

"Mello?!" Matt cried, and immediately he felt the knife slip away from his neck and the arm release its hold on his waist.

"Hey Matt, what's up?"

Matt whirled around, coming face to face with the man he had been hoping to see for the past two weeks- but he had hoped it would be under much different circumstances. This was just…

"What the fuck, Mello! What the fuck were you doing?!"

"Chill, man," the blonde said with a grin, pocketing what Matt now identified as a simple Swiss army knife.

"Chill?!" Matt screeched in complete disbelief at the blonde's easy going manner. "I will not chill! You held a knife to my throat! Who does that?! _Who does that?!"_

"You're too uptight, Matt. I was just having a little fun."

"How was that fun?! That wasn't fun! That was the complete opposite of fun! Seriously, what is w_rong_ with you?! You broke into my apartment and _assaulted _me!"

"I didn't break in. You left the door open."

"No, I didn't!" Matt never left the door unlocked. It wasn't for his own safety though- he was always careful to keep it locked for the safety of his gaming systems. After this, though, he was seriously considering reordering his priorities.

"Nice towel," Mello smirked, and Matt was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was practically naked.

"Yeah, well, I was in the shower when you decided to pull your little prank," Matt said with annoyance. Mello didn't have any sort of contact with him for two weeks, and then decides to go and pull a stunt like this?

Mello was completely unfazed by Matt's tone. "Good," he said brightly. "Now you'll be nice and clean for tonight."

"Tonight? What's special about tonight?"

Mello grinned, "Go get dressed, Matt. We're going out." The blonde scanned the room, his gaze settling on Matt's open closet. He bounded over the closet and started tossing clothes out, leaving a completely shell-shocked Matt just standing there, trying to take in everything that had happened.

He felt a vague, lingering annoyance at the Mello's audacity; sneaking into his apartment, and who the fuck knows what he was thinking pulling a knife as a _joke_. But still, Matt couldn't help but forgive the blonde as he watched him rifle through Matt's clothing. Mello was exactly the spark of excitement his sad, little life needed, no matter how crazy he seemed.

"God, Matt. Do you own any clothes that don't reek of nerd?"

Okay, he forgave him _for the most part._

"Sorry," Matt retorted, raising his eyebrow at Mello's outfit; it just didn't seem right for him to be criticizing Matt's clothes when he was wearing tight black leather pants, a shiny, leather shirt that laced up the front, combat boots, and more spiked jewelry than a display at Hot Topic. "All my S&M clothes are at the cleaner."

"Put these on," Mello commanded, throwing some clothes in Matt's general direction, completely ignoring Matt's previous comment. "Those will do for tonight, but next time, you're wearing something of mine."

Matt scoffed at Mello's words, but inside he was practically beaming. Mello had said 'next time'. As in, 'We're going out again after tonight'. As in, 'You don't have to worry about me never showing up again'. Or at least, that's what Matt hoped it meant. The thought that this sort of dependence on a person he had just met two weeks ago, under questionable circumstances, was not in the least bit healthy, flitted across Matt's mind for a second. But he quickly shoved it away as he gathered up the clothes Mello had picked out- a pair of dark blue jeans and a black button down shirt- and quickly darted into the bathroom to change.

Apparently the outfit was to Mello's liking; he grinned at Matt as he emerged from the bathroom fully dressed. Matt realized just how much he liked having Mello's approval.

"Good, much better. You look halfway presentable, Matty."

"It's Matt." That was one point Matt was unwilling to concede. His name was not Matty.

"Okay, Matt." Mello laughed as if he found Matt's insistence on being addressed correctly amusing. "Let's get going. I don't wanna waste the whole night here, the club's waiting."

"We're… going to the club?" Matt wasn't sure if he was entirely comfortable with the idea of going back there so soon.

"Don't worry, Matt. You're with me. No one will even think about touching you, and if they do…" Mello pulled out his pocket knife and flicked it open. He saw Matt's eyes widen in shock and laughed, "I'm joking, Matt. No one's going to do anything to you. You really need to loosen up."

Matt kept a wary eye on the knife until it once again disappeared to somewhere in that tight, black leather. He wasn't entirely sure he believed Mello; he had a sinking feeling that the blonde had pulled the knife on people in far more serious situations.

It took a much shorter amount of time to get to the club on the back of Mello's motorcycle than it did when Light was driving, despite the fact the Mello had stopped at a rather seedy looking apartment building, disappearing inside one of the units for five minutes, and refusing to tell Matt why, insisting he was only 'taking care of some business'. Their quick arrival could definitely be attributed to one simple fact: Mello liked to go fast. Really fast. Perhaps Matt hadn't noticed when Mello had driven him home the first time, or maybe the blonde had been going slowly for Matt's sake. But this time, out on the highway, he held nothing back, and Matt gripped onto Mello's waist for dear life, breathing a huge sigh of relief when they arrived at the club.

When they approached the entrance, instead of heading to the back of the line, Mello boldly strutted straight to the bouncer, who simply smiled and waved them through. They hadn't had to pay or offer up their ID's (which was a good thing, since Matt still hadn't replaced his). More and more, Matt was getting the impression that Mello fucking _owned_ this place.

That feeling was only further confirmed when they entered into the heart of the crowd- the place was already packed and it was still early, only nine o clock. Everyone, from the partiers to the security to the bartender seemed to know Mello. The blonde acknowledged everyone who called for his attention with a wave and a confident smirk of the lips. The strobe lights highlighted his scar, making him look sexy and dangerous at the same time; it was magnetic. Matt couldn't take his eyes off Mello, so it didn't surprise him that no one else could too. It took twice as long for them to get through the crowd as it would have for a normal person. Matt had to wonder, just _who_ was he hanging out with? He couldn't help but feel special to have so much of Mello's attention lavished on him, when so many people obviously desired it.

Once they were through the main bulk of the crowd, Mello suddenly grabbed Matt's wrist and pulled him forcibly into the bathroom. Inside, he dragged Matt into a stall and quickly shut the door behind him.

"Uh, Mello? Wha--" Matt began.

"Shh," Mello commanded before reaching down to pull a small silver cigarette case from inside one of his combat boots. Matt watched in interest as Mello flicked open the case to reveal, not cigarettes, but a small plastic baggie with several small blue pills in it. Matt's eyes widened. Was that…

Mello grinned at Matt and gingerly plucked one of the pills from the plastic and popped it into his mouth. Then Mello did something that took Matt completely by surprise; snapping the case closed, he leaned in and pushed his lips against Matt's, trapping him up against the wall of the bathroom. He gave Matt no time to react and instead bit slightly at Matt's lower lip, using his tongue to coax Matt's mouth open. When Matt obliged and parted his lips, Mello's tongue darted in and deposited the pill in Matt's mouth.

Matt pulled out the kiss and spluttered, spitting the pill into his hand. "What the hell are you doing? What is this? I don't do _drugs,_ Mello!" Matt hissed.

"It's not a big deal, Matt. It's just a tab. Come on; I promise you'll have fun. Just do this with me."

"No!" Matt looked incredulously at Mello. "I'm not going to."

"Fine," Mello's gaze hardened, all previous frivolity completely gone. "You know Matt, I really thought you'd be up for having a good time with me, but I can see that I was wrong. Give me that," he plucked the damp pill from Matt's hand and popped it back into his mouth, quickly swallowing it.

Mello tucked the cigarette case back into his boot and reached out behind him with one hand to push open the stall door. "Here, Matt," this time Mello reached into one of his pockets and pulled out two wrinkled twenties. "Here's some money for a cab home. Why don't you just leave?"

"But, I… I mean-"

"Whatever, Matt. You're not the guy I thought you were, just go, okay?" With that Mello turned and strode out of the bathroom, leaving a bewildered Matt clutching forty dollars, leaning against the wall, and wondering how the hell the evening had turned so bad so quickly.

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**Reviews? I would really love some feedback about character development, and the pacing of the story.**

**Beta-ed by: Emo-Nerdy-Insane-Writer**


	7. Flipside

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Hello story, it's been awhile since I've updated you. But don't worry. I would never abandon you.

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The ride back to Matt's apartment was, without a doubt, the worst half hour of Matt's short life thus far. The back of the taxi was uncomfortably humid and of questionable cleanliness. But that was really the least of Matt's worries.

After the chaotic noise of the crowd, the interior of the car was deafeningly quiet, and every bar of light from the passing street lamps reminded Matt of Mello's hair, illuminated and shining in the strobe lights of the club. Matt was silent for the duration of the long trip, saying nothing as the cab driver pulled up in front of his apartment building, or as he paid him with hastily smoothed out bills, emptying the small stash in his pocket. Inside his head, however, was a whirlwind of noise.

He could almost feel, he thought as he stumbled up the stairs to his apartment and struggled with the key, Mello slipping from him, like water held in a cupped hand. And again, the thought struck him, why did he care so much? It wasn't love. It was something more; infatuation… obsession. The idea chilled him even as he acknowledged its probability. Obsession was a good word for this feeling; it invoked a certain sense of losing control, which was exactly how he felt. Overnight, it seemed (although it had to have been longer than that), his world had shifted. Mello was the new axis on which he spun, and suddenly Matt almost longed for the days when all he cared about were video games and himself. Almost, because the boredom of his old life seemed overwhelming when he thought about it now.

That same boredom came rushing at him the moment the door to his apartment clicked shut behind him, and he was trapped in with the crushing same-ness of it all. Without Mello, what would he do? Go back to his same, predictable life? The weeks before this night, the weeks where he had existed solely for waiting for Mello, he realized now were just a precursor. A precursor to the rest of his life, it seemed.

How melodramatic, he thought. How stupid of me. But even as he told himself it was stupid, he still couldn't help but feel it as he roamed his apartment in search of something, anything, to distract him. He paced into the kitchen and picked a plate off the teetering pile of dishes in the sink. Maybe he would clean; it hadn't been done in weeks after all.

"Damnit," he muttered, inspecting the plate with its caked on food and slight scent of rotting. And then, as if the floodgates inside him had opened, "Damnit! Fuck!" He sent the plate crashing towards the floor, where it smashed into dozens of pieces, scattering across the small kitchen. "Fuck!" he yelled again, snatching up a bowl, which quickly met the same fate as the plate.

Why had he said no, pushed Mello away? Where had these sudden moral s come from? Too many anti-drug programs in elementary school? Too many intervention documentaries on TV? Matt didn't exactly consider himself a squeaky clean sort of guy. In fact, if you had asked him before this whole thing whether he would say no to drugs, he probably would have shrugged and said 'maybe'. But now, it seemed that years of having 'Just Say No' crammed into his head had paid off- in the worst possible way for Matt. It had lost him his chance at something new; his chance to escape the terrible, horrible boredom that he hadn't even realized was there. But now he could see it, and he wouldn't (couldn't) return to it.

Matt buried his hands in his red hair, sinking to the floor until he had his back against the refrigerator. The gentle hum of the machine calmed him, and he stayed that way, hands gripping his hair, shoes resting on small bits of broken ceramic, until he could think clearly again.

And it came to him; he knew exactly what to do. His hands reached instinctively for his pocket, fingers scrambling before he remembered: he no longer had a cell phone. It was gone, like so many other things, lost to that night that had started it all.

"Damnit," said Matt again, but this was a different sort of curse. It wasn't the half-wild, helpless curse of before, but one of purpose, determination. He pushed himself off the floor, bringing his left thumb down on a sharp shard of ceramic. He brought the injured digit to his mouth absentmindedly, flinching a bit as the coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth. It was bleeding more than he liked, but he didn't want to waste the time looking for a band-aid. He would find one later, after he had made his call.

Now where to find a phone? He thought desperately, reaching for a solution. Did pay phones still exist? He knew they were around, but now that he actually needed one he couldn't put his finger on an exact location. Besides, he reached in his pocket with his uninjured hand; did he even have enough change for that type of thing? A penny, two dimes, and a breath mint was all his fingers came in contact with. That wouldn't get him very far.

In his desperation, Matt had another idea, one that he appalled. It was a true testament to his out-of-control emotions that he found himself doing the one thing he swore up and down would never happen. He knocked so hard on his neighbor's door that he felt his knuckles bruise.

Matt had always studiously avoided any sort of communication with his neighbors, both downstairs and next door. Human contact wasn't his thing, and neighbors were some of the worst. Nosy and irritating, at least in his mind. He had been quite successful in his avoidance so far, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He wondered briefly who the person who lived in this apartment even was, he had never actually seen them.

His unspoken question was answered almost immediately. The door swung open to reveal a lady, not wholly unattractive, who looked to be in her mid-twenties or maybe early thirties. Matt had always been shit at guessing ages. She was wearing loose, sweat pants and a t-shirt; an outfit that said, 'I was about to go to sleep, why the hell are you bothering me?'

Luckily for Matt, the woman herself was slightly nicer. "Can I help you?" Despite her inviting tone, Matt saw her throw a glance at the clock hanging on the wall behind her.

"Sorry it's sort of late," Matt said, doing his best to hide his anxiety. This phone call was the only idea he had, and he didn't want to consider having to come up with other options. "I'm your neighbor. I live right there." He pointed behind himself, indicating his open apartment door. "We've never really spoken; I'm Matt."

"Leslie." She didn't hold out her hand, which was just fine with Matt.

"Can I use your phone?" He got right to the point. "I lost mine a few weeks ago, and I need to make a really important call."

She narrowed her eyes, sizing him up. Matt did his best to look non-threatening and full of only good intentions; but the slightly crazed look in his eyes and his club outfit probably didn't help matters much. "Sure," she decided finally. She turned her back to him, to retrieve her phone, but didn't offer to let him into her apartment. "Here," she handed him the small phone. It was blue, an older model, and Matt stared for a second before startled back into action by a small clearing of her throat in his direction.

He punched in the first nine numbers, and then hesitated, his fingers wavering uncertainly over the keypad. Was it a nine or a six? He couldn't remember, and told a wild guess in the dark, stabbing the nine with his index finger and hoping for the best as the phone rang. The woman eyed him, partly curious and partly on guard.

The phone rang four times, each shrill tone making Matt more anxious. And then a voice miraculously picked up. "Hello?" L's slight monotone was a welcome sound to Matt's ears.

"L, it's Matt. Listen, I need your help with something. Please say yes, this is really important to me," Matt said in a rush.

L took a maddeningly long time to answer, and Matt gripped the phone tightly, waiting. "What number are you calling me from?"

"My neighbor's; I don't have my phone anymore. But seriously, can you help me?" Matt pointedly ignored the intrigued gaze of his neighbor, cupping his sweaty fingers more tightly over the phone.

"Why should I do that?" L questioned. "You've been ignoring me for weeks."

Matt had been expecting that response, though he still didn't like it. "I know, I'm really sorry," he said, half lying, half telling the truth. "I've just been… out of it." On the other end of the line, L cleared his throat derisively. "Yeah, I know," said Matt, "It's a terrible excuse, but please I really need your help and you're the only one who could handle this."

Silence on the other end. Sighing heavily, Matt made a quick decision. It was wrong of him to do; he knew it, but still… "I'll get you a date with Misa."

"What?" L sounded truly surprised. It was a rare tone to hear from him.

"I'll get you a date with Misa," Matt repeated, hating himself a little bit for using a friend. "I'll talk to her; get her warmed up to the idea. Then I can set you guys up."

A longer silence, and then, "You're not lying?"

"No," Matt reassured, feeling like a worse person with every passing second. "I will, if you'll do this one favor for me."

L sighed. "What is it?"

A sudden grin split Matt's face. "Thank you so much, L. Seriously. Okay, do you remember that blonde guy from a couple weeks ago?"

"The one with the motorcycle?"

"Yeah, him."

L's voice sounded less than enthused. "I remember him being incredibly rude."

Matt fidgeted slightly. "Yeah, but you remember him? Good… I need you to find out any information about him you can. Phone number, address… that sort of thing. Please," he added as an afterthought.

L sighed again. "Why did you call me about this, Matt?"

"Because I know you. You can do this sort of thing. You should be a detective or something. _Please."_ Matt winced to himself. He couldn't believe how low he was sinking.

"Fine. I'll do it. But I'm holding you to your promise, Matt. You owe me a date with her."

"Yeah, of course. Next week or something."

"Bye." L didn't waste time in disconnecting the call. Matt lowered the phone from his ear and stared at it for a minute, deep in thought, before a small cough reminded him that his neighbor was still standing there. He turned towards her, holding out the phone. "Thanks."

She opened her mouth to speak, but Matt had already turned and practically sprinted towards his apartment, practically giddy with excitement. Finally, he was getting somewhere. He wasn't quite sure what he'd do once L got him the information, but he had a few ideas.

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**Reviews? You guys rock. I promise this story will be going somewhere from now on.**


	8. Obvious

**Lalala... something clever and witty... I am very sick. Please enjoy your sick-brain written chapter.**

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Matt, it seemed, had chosen his confidante well. Not even twenty-four hours later, Matt was awoken from a bizarre dream by L's loud, insistent knocking on the door. As Matt stumbled off the couch and swung open the door for his friend, he attempted to shake the dream from his mind. The feeling of falling, though, along with the sneering, laughing face of Mello would not leave him. Matt shuddered, feeling slightly sick, but did his best to push the feeling away.

"This is what I have," said L, waving a file folder as Matt closed the door behind him. Typical L; no time or words wasted. L stopped short, surprise registering on his normal passive face. "What happened here?"

"Er…," Matt said, looking around his apartment. Gaming consoles were stacked three deep in front of the TV, clothes and fast food wrappers littered the floor, and fine layer of dust seemed to lie atop the whole mess. As L's eyes wandered from the main living space to stare inquisitively into the kitchen, where the ceramic remnants of Matt's temper tantrum from the night before still lingered, Matt nonchalantly slid to the side, effectively blocking L's view. "Earthquake?"

L raised his eyebrows at Matt, or least Matt assumed he did. It was sometimes difficult to tell under that mass of black hair. "Yeah…," Matt trailed off, cheeks burning. Was there even a point in lying to L? He always seemed to know. Matt coughed dryly into his hand and attempted to switch the subject. "Not that I don't appreciate the quick work, but why are you here so early?" He shot a brief look at the TV clock, which showed the time as a scant fifteen minutes after seven in the morning.

L sighed as he perched on the edge of the armchair. Matt dropped onto the couch and idly pushed a few crumbs onto the ground, waiting for an answer. "Mikami came over at seven."

"What for?"

"I don't know," L said, resting his hands on his drawn-up knees, "To shine Light's shoes?"

Matt snorted in laughter. "Honestly, I don't know how you can stand living with that guy."

"Living with Light does have its," L looked suddenly shifty, "…advantages."

Now it was Matt's turn to raise his eyebrows at L. "Uh-huh. Those advantages wouldn't have something to do with the company he keeps, would they? Oh, I dunno… a certain blonde girl who likes to spend an awful lot of time at your apartment?"

L blinked rapidly, not meeting Matt's gaze. "Of course not," he said. "That's ridiculous."

"Mm-hmm," Matt replied, rolling his eyes. He knew there was no way L would tolerate sharing a living space with Light unless there was a good reason. And for L, good reasons happened to come in the form of Misa.

L frowned. "Do you want to see the information I got, or not?" He held out the file folder.

Matt stared at the folder. It looked awfully thick. "That looks like a ton of information. All I asked for was an address, maybe a telephone number. What did you do? Look up his entire life?"

L shrugged. "What can I say? He was… intriguing. Or certain aspects of his life are."

Matt furrowed his eyebrows. He should've known; with Mello there was always more than it seemed. This was only the beginning. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a tall cliff, getting ready to jump into unknown waters. But he knew, more certainly than he had ever known anything in his life, that this was something he wanted to do. He took a deep breath. "Alright, show me what you got."

L leaned forward, placing the folder on the coffee table and pulling out a handful of documents. He spread the first few out. "This," he said, pointing at the first paper, "is mostly what you asked for. Phone number and address. Plus name, date of birth, country of origin, social security number-"

"Whoa, wait up a minute!" Matt put his hands up in front of his face. "I only asked for stuff that should be fairly legal to find. Before this blatant display of invasion of privacy continues, should I even ask how you got all this information?"

"No."

"Didn't think so." Yeah, Matt had definitely chosen the right person to help him out. L could be… excessive in his methods, but he got the job done in the end. Besides, Matt sure as hell wasn't going to complain about a little extra information. Anything to help unravel the conundrum that was Mello. "Wait," he said, frowning. "Did you say 'real name'?"

L nodded.

"Well, shit," Matt muttered. "I didn't even know he was using a fake name." Although now that it had been said, the obviousness of it was undeniable. Of course Mello was a fake name. But it suited him. "So what is it?"

L lifted the paper and offered it to Matt. "Mihael Keehl."

"Hmm," Matt said, eyes scanning the lines of text. "And his birthday… he's the same age as me." Maybe it was something to do with the way Mello carried himself, sure and confident, as if the world was his plaything; but Matt had automatically assumed that the blonde was at least two years older than him, maybe more. "That's interesting. So what's all the rest of that?"

There were still a handful of papers on the table. L had really done his homework. "Ah," said L, a hint of a smile on his face. L really did enjoy the detective-type thing way too much. "These are mostly records of his schooling history."

"…Why?"

"Well, it's not so much him that's interesting here," L explained, leafing through the papers and pulling out a printed photo. "but his roommate." He flashed the picture at Matt.

"Hey, I remember him. Near," Matt said, staring at the photo. It was the boy who had been leaning over him when he had woken up in Mello's apartment. But there was something different about him in the photo- he looked younger, and his eyes didn't look quite so dead.

"He was listed on the apartment's leasing form, so I decided to check into him too." Once again, Matt cringed inwardly. "His name is Nate River."

"Okay," said Matt. "but why is this kid so interesting? He seemed…not all there when I met him."

"Really?" asked L. "Makes sense. What seemed off about him?"

"I don't know," said Matt. "He just creeped me out, is all. Why does that make sense?"

"That's sort of hard to explain," answered L, looking back at the papers. "I'll just sum up what I managed to get from these for you." Matt nodded and prompted L to continue. "I traced their records as far back as I could and found out that they were both raised in the same place: an orphanage for extremely gifted children called Wammy's House."

"So they're smart," Matt scoffed. "Why does that make them unusual? You could probably give them a run for their money."

L glared and Matt shut up. "They were both at the top. Near was number one, and Mello was number two, consistently, for most of their time there. What's unusual is that after they graduated, they started living together."

"Once again, why is that unusual?" Matt sighed.

"Because from what I can tell, they hated each other. Or at least, Mello hated Near. I can't tell with any certainty whether it was mutual. But there are countless incident reports in Mello's files. He's got a hot temper."

"I'd definitely believe that," Matt muttered darkly.

"He was in tons of fights; over half of them involving Near.

"So why the hell would Mello go to the trouble of living with someone he obviously hated?" Matt mused. He already sensed that Mello did nothing that wouldn't directly benefit him. This seeming act of charity didn't fit him at all.

"That's the part I can't figure out," said L, his face twisted in a sudden scowl. "It's weird. Near was accepted early to all sorts of universities, but right after they graduated, he just seemed to drop off the face of the earth. Didn't choose a college, didn't do anything really."

Matt frowned. That version of Near definitely fit more with the one he had met than some super-genius.

"Why would someone give all that up though?" L continued, lost in his own thoughts. "What could cause a person to change like that?"

"I have no clue," said Matt, his mind racing forward. He had what he needed now: a way to contact Mello. This mystery was intriguing, yes, but he could feel his common sense being knocked out by that crazy pull towards Mello. "Listen," he said, standing. "Thanks a lot, you've been a huge help."

"Matt," L looked at him gravely. "What are you going to go do? This guy… I don't think you should be messing around him. Call it intuition, but something doesn't seem right."

"I appreciate your concern, I really do," said Matt. "But I can handle it." L gave him a concerned look. "I promise."

Now the only trick was, Matt decided, convincing himself of that as well.

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**Reviews? I try to make my plots thicken. I'm just not sure if it works out so well sometimes.**


	9. The Dive

**Dear Waking Up,**

**It has been awhile. I've missed you. Have an update.**

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"Okay," Matt muttered to himself. "You can do this. He's just a person. Nothing to freak yourself out over. You can do this." He shot a quick, longing glance back towards the parking lot and the relative safety of his waiting car. "Or you could get back in your car, drive back to your crappy little apartment and spend the rest of your life alone and miserable except for your thirty thousand cats. And good luck with that because you're allergic to cats."

He took a deep, fortifying breath and stared at his finger, which was wavering hesitantly over the doorbell, and willed it to move. "Oh god, damnit," he cursed before pressing down on the button. He heard the faint echo of the bell from inside Mello's apartment, but when a few minutes passed without answering footsteps, his breath hitched nervously in his chest.

What if Mello wasn't home? Or worse, what if Mello _was_ home but knew it was Matt outside and didn't want to answer the door? Damnit, why had he talked himself into this stupid idea? It had taken nearly a week of staring at the address L had given him to convince himself to go. And now here was to what? Cry? Plead? Beg for Mello's attention? Not that any of that even mattered when apparently no one was home.

No sooner had the thought formed in Matt's mind, then the door swung silently open. "Yes?" The voice was deadened, monotonous, and all too creepily familiar.

"Oh, hi Near," Matt said uncertainly. "I was just looking for… I mean, I came by because-," He stopped abruptly as the white-haired boy walked back into the depths of the apartment without a word, leaving the door wide open. As the smaller boy settled himself on the floor with a robot toy in hand, Matt hesitantly let himself in. "I'll just shut this then?" He gestured towards the door and, receiving no response, nudged it closed softly.

"So..." He swayed awkwardly on the balls of his feet, looking around the apartment without really seeing it. "I know it's sort of late, but I figured nine 'o' clock maybe might not be _too_ late, you know…"

Fabulous. Now he was babbling. "Is um…" He swallowed thickly. "… Mello here? I was wondering if I could talk to him? We got into sort of- well I don't know if you would call it a fight… but I don't know. And I mean, I don't know if maybe you two talk about this kind of stuff or not, you know, since you live together and all but-" He stopped as Near shook his head slowly. "He's not? Oh…," Matt thought for a moment and quickly made a decision. "Do you think I could wait for him here? I mean, if it's a problem-"

He stopped again as Near lifted a single, slender finger, the sleeve of his overly large, white pajama top falling over his hand as he did so, and pointed to a door off the main room. _Just in time too,_ Matt thought. He didn't know why something as simple as a visit to Mello or a ten-second conversation with the strange, silent Near had turned into such an incoherent idiot.

For a moment, his eagerness to get away from Near overpowered his trepidation and he hurried to the door. The hallway it opened to was short, and had two doors leading off of it, one on either side. A quick glance into the one on the right showed stacks of children's toys and tidy bed with a gray coverlet. _Definitely not, _Matt thought, going into the door on the left instead.

The room in which he found himself was the polar opposite of the previous. A red blanket had been hung over the window, blocking the little light trickling in from the street lamps outside and tingeing the room a dim red-black as Matt closed the door behind him with a soft click, not bothering to turn on the lights. It felt rude somehow, like he was disturbing the sanctity of someone else's dwelling place. Clothes that just screamed Mello- all black, leather, and dangerous- were strewn on floor and furniture alike, and several rosaries were draped over the corner of a large mirror above the dresser. The scent of old incense hung heavily in the air.

Matt spied some expensive-looking stereo equipment occupying one corner of the room, and his fingers itched to examine it even as he reminded himself that it was probably best not to touch anything.

He lowered himself gingerly onto the edge of the unmade bed, running a hand over the rumpled black comforter. He sat still and thinking for a long time, occasionally glancing at his watch and wishing he had thought to bring his DS as the minute hand crept steadily forward. Ten 'o' clock… eleven… midnight. His eyes grew bleary and he had to blink rapidly to stay awake. His sleep had been unfitful the past couple of nights and the lingering incense was having a soporific effect on him. He blinked again heavily, wondering not for the first time that night, when Mello would be back and whether or not coming here had been a very stupid idea.

The minute hand counted down another tick towards one in the morning. His eyes were very dry. _I'll just close them for a second, _he thought.

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"Matt!"

Matt's eyes flew open as a familiar voice yelled his name. Seconds later, his ears were assailed by a pounding, bass-driven techno mix- turned on at max volume, it seemed. He practically threw himself off the bed, his sleep-heavy limbs tangling and getting in his way as he stood. "Mello. I was just-," He almost had to shout to be heard over the music. He squinted to see Mello in the dark room.

"Matt!" the blonde said again loudly. Matt had just a second for his eyes to adjust and catch sight of him, hair and clothes mussed, a wide, unnaccustomary grin splashed across his face, before he was knocked backwards onto the bed. Mello's knees were on either side of his hips, his hands resting on either side of Matt's head. He grunted in surprise as Mello's face came into view directly above his.

"Mello, I-" Matt began again. The smell of cigarettes and cheap liquor rolled off the blonde and enveloped him, obliterating the comforting smell of incense.

"I knew you'd come crawling back, Matt."

"What?" Matt finally spit out a full thought.

"I knew you'd come track me down eventually," Mello replied. At this proximity, Matt could hear every word, the throbbing bass of the stereo notwithstanding. "They always do. Can't stay away, can you?" He looked manic. Matt's eyes raked over Mello's face. Strands of Mello's messy blonde hair hung down like a curtain, casting him into shadow and tickling Matt's face. The pupils of his eyes were huge, almost comically so; the black nearly obscuring the ice-blue irises. Eyes you could easily drown in.

Matt shuddered at the sudden thought. "What are you on?" he asked quietly. He was stupid. It really shouldn't have surprised him.

Mello laughed, more of his hair brushing over Matt's cheeks before look him dead in the eyes. Matt couldn't tear his gaze away from Mello's, which was full to the brim of- what? Planning? Malice? He didn't know.

"What does it matter?" Mello said, lowering his face so close to Matt's that he could very nearly count each of Mello's individual eyelashes.

"Huh?" He was having trouble thinking properly with Mello's face so close to his.

"What does it matter what I'm on?" Mello repeated gleefully. "It doesn't change a thing. It doesn't change you what came here for, does it?"

"It-," Matt began, and then stopped. Did it change anything? No. Not a damn thing. "No," he said.

"See!" Mello said loudly, sitting up. "I knew you'd end up here. You're with me, right Matt? The whole damn world's against me. So tell me Matt, are you with the world? Or are you with me?"

"I'm with you," Matt answered, propping himself up on his elbows and looking up at Mello.

"Good choice Matty," said Mello and he held out his hand. Resting in his palm was a small, chalky-blue pill. Matt took a deep breath. No more time for thinking about how stupid he was. No more time for rational, mature decisions. He knew the minute he had gotten in his car and driven over here what his decision was. Perhaps he had even known when he had gone to L for information. Was it the right decision? Probably not, but it was the one he had made all the same. He couldn't lose Mello.

In one fluid motion he plucked the tab from Mello's outstretched hand and swallowed it. Mello's grin stretched even wider. "We're gonna have some fun tonight, Matty."

* * *

**Things are getting serious? Possibly. Who doesn't love some good old drug-rambling, not making sense Mello? **

**Don't do drugs, kids. Do reviews. Reviews have literally no side effects and they make the world a better place.**

**Should I bump the rating on this story up?**


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